Our War
by itakethewords
Summary: My mind and my body and my heart are at war. My mind cannot stand you around. My body needs you. My heart thinks it loves you. Each day, the war begins again. There is always a victory, but no one truly wins.


_**Author's Note**: Hey! Randomly felt like writing up a quick story. Hope you all like it. A lot of you know my writing style. This isn't any different. I hope you're all familiar with my romantic one-shots _Tryst_ and _Burn_, my ficlet _The Two Times Arthur Tried to Kiss Ariadne_, my other one-shots _A Complex_ and _Genuinely Spooked_, and my epic tale called _Shadows_._

_So, ENJOY! And please tell me if you liked it, didn't like it, what your day was like, whatever in a review. They make me smile._

_Disclaimer: I own only my own plots, etc. _

* * *

I am only human.

Ruled by my baser instincts. My senses.

There is never a real moment when I am not aware. Of myself.

Of you.

My eyes are sharp, catching all your movements. Those subtle ones you send to me and the unconscious ones your mind and body link up with and send out. These eyes catch the world around around you, showing me exactly the kind of person you are. They tell me whether I should be disgusted at your existence or revel in it. If I should leech on it and thrive, using you until you are a shell and useless.

My ears hear your words. Those rare, delectable ones that I can drink up like a parched man in the desert. The rest that I wish to cram back into your throat, hoping you choke on them. I can hear your breath—in and out, in and out—cut through the air, the rustle of your clothes on your skin, against each other. Those clothes that I want to rip off you mercilessly.

I can smell your skin everywhere. My nose can sense you, even if you've been gone hours. Your natural scent, subtle, noticeable only truly to me. Heady and intoxicating. Your perfume, light, unobtrusive, invades every inch of space. It overwhelms me and makes me gag, my stomach roll. Combined with your luscious odor, it's a vile smell I wish to be rid of, I wish to do the world a favor for and eliminate it from the surface of humanity.

Your skin on mine. Your hair between my fingers. Sparks ignite when your skin meets mine. I know every inch, yet, I wish to memorize it again, just to be sure. I also want to run my fingers on your pale, soft flesh, dig my fingers deep until it bruises. I want to leave my marks on you. I want everyone to know my fingertips sunk into your hips, your shoulders, your wrists. I want you to know pain. From me.

I've tasted you a hundred times. The salt on your skin, your lips, mouth, your essence. I cannot get enough. I crave it. Like an addict needs heroine. At first, it's bliss, but eventually it means nothing to you. It hurts you, you wish you could get rid of it, throw it away. But you can't. I can't. I come back for more. Greedily sucking at your lips, let my tongue leave a trail as it explores. I take it all in like the selfish bastard that I am.

My mind and my body and my heart are at war.

My mind cannot stand you around. It recoils when you're near. It tries sending messages to the seemingly traitorous body that it inhabits. They are ignored, except the rare moments when it takes over, trying to will my stomach's bile to rise, my lips to curl in distaste.

My body needs you. It hums when you are near, filled with an energy like a magnet that pulls constantly to another. My feet will always eventually make their way to you. My hands itch to touch you, a brush of the fingertips, a squeeze of the hand. Anything to get that next hit. When I can, I lean in to smell your air, pretending to observe your work, to talk to your about something important.

My heart thinks it loves you.

But it is always arguing with my mind.

My body has no say. It is the weak one.

My heart tells me that my mind is _too _rational this time. That I need to stop over-thinking things. That the only reason why I seemingly hate you is because I worry. For you, for me. For us. And that I'm scared. That I have a fear of ending up like so many others, not only in our line of work, but the every day people.

My mind tells the heart that it is playing it safe. It's better to play nice, yet distant. Because, in the end, everyone ends up just like _everyone else_. That there is nothing wrong with having a healthy distaste for someone and using them for satisfaction all at once. You are our tool.

Something that you don't seem to mind all that much. You haven't complained yet. You ask for _more_.

That last word leaves a bitter residue on my heart. And my mind ignores it.

Many days, the heart wins. Others, the mind.

The body just goes along for the ride, unconcerned for what the others want.

All it knows is that it wants you.

And when I go under, when the PASIV invades my mind, it is sliced open and examined by my own subconscious. It is the subconscious that will get to decide. The heart thrives on the shuddering nakedness the mind feels. It loves that it is laid bare, open. A word my mind would use is weak. But the heart believes its the honesty that is laid open. The truth splayed out for the whole of me.

And in those precious moments, mind, body, and heart join together in agreement.

But when I wakes up, slowly, as I adjust myself to reality, the mind rebuilds its walls. The insecurity knows no bounds.

I brush off the look of regret on my face with a small laugh, a joke, or simply by ignoring the others.

The days I'm laid bare to my own subconscious, I take you.

Rough, demanding. Loving, slow. Many times until I've had my fill.

Sometimes, I takes pity on us both and stay. Others, I wait until you've fallen asleep and collect my things and leave like the devil is on my heels.

And I go to my cold, empty bed and cry.

Each day, the war begins again. There is always a victory, but no one truly wins.

No matter what is decided. Mind, body, heart. I am still alone.

Which is why, the next time I go under, I decide to leave down the walls. I refuse to let the mind rebuild them.

Whether it makes me stronger or destroys me is a matter of observance and study.

And both heart and mind agree that this is much scarier than any semblance of love.

Trust is a rare commodity.

* * *

_**A/N:** Yes. I purposely kept any and all names out of this. And pretty much kept the narrator anonymous. I want all of you to fill the two with a couple you feel would fit best._

_Hope you enjoyed it!_


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